


Session 3.3 - The Straightest Line

by Munnin



Series: The Darthen Empire Campaign [4]
Category: Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bluebooking, Gen, No context outside the campaign, RPG notes, campaign diary, please ignore unless you're playing this game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 04:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18175841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munnin/pseuds/Munnin
Summary: After the battle, Cass and the blacksmith Tjorac have a conversation that surprises both parties.





	Session 3.3 - The Straightest Line

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, don't bother reading this unless you're playing Pathfinder with me. This is just a spot for me to host some bluebooking / out of session prose. It's not meant for anyone not playing and isn't written to make a lick of sense. I'm just appeasing the muses.
> 
> Please excuse the mangled google translate Japanese. Big thanks to Kris for actual translations, even if I then mangled it.

Cass melted into the background moments after Shinokishi checked on her. She couldn’t help much with the wounded so set herself to gathering and tethering the surviving horses. 

She set aside some of those more able for their party and led the others over to the villagers. For those who are injured to ride or to carry the dead. After all, the villagers would know better how to tend to wounded horses than they would. Those horses who stumbled and limped might be made whole by those who would have time to salve and nurse them. Those mounts the company took would know little rest. 

Swift hands work to strip the bodies of their fallen foes. That done, she kept to the side, holding the horses and their loot in ready to leave.

Everett’s horse fretted, high strung and fresh from battle. Cass had no gift with animals but she did her best, guiding the pack upwind of the scent of blood. 

Cass knew she should be helping with the recovery effort. She should be a banner to the people. But the others were doing that well enough and she was too tired, too sore. And they would need to leave soon, before reinforcements came. 

For Piotr, the public face came instinctively, the banter of his trade. For Shinokishi, his innate nobility carried him, ever sure on the honourable path. And Everett seemed to run on a natural charm, easy with the crowd even at his most irascible. Only Jeff seemed as uncomfortable, as she but of all of them, she knew least about him.

How had her mother done it? How had she borne the weight of the peoples’ expectations? To be the hero they needed her to be. 

She tethered the horses, checking a torn strap, lost in her own thoughts. And on turning, found herself face to face with the Blacksmith. 

Well, face to chest. He was considerably taller than she. And his bared torso was hard with muscle at the level of her eyes. 

“We meet again, m’lady.” He grinned, teeth a shock of white against his red-streaked skin. “I never thanked you properly for cutting me loose. I’ve never been so happy to see a beautiful woman in my life.”

She huffed lightly, snorting away the exaggerated complement. Of the words she could use to describe herself, beautiful was not one of them. “You did me a great service when you struck the bowman. That is not a kindness I could forget.” 

“You set me free and rode in to fight with me.” As he stepped closer, Cass became acutely aware of the difference in their size. “I think that means I’m in debt to you now.” 

He reached up a large hand, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. 

Her posture stiffened at the unexpected touch, eyes narrowing. “There is no debt between us.” She answered tightly and stepped back, turning towards the horses. 

He reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder, gently turning her to face him. “Still, I feel I owe you. There must be something I can do for you?” He stepped close again, lowering his voice to a soft purr. “Something you want… or need.” 

He might not have meant it but he had blocked her view of the others, his shoulders wide enough to cast her in shadow from the still rising sun. She had seen him fight. His way was brute strength. The most direct line from self to intent. 

Her was a subtler way. One that was ever aware of lines and angles.

She locked eyes with him, reading his expression under the blood. He hadn’t intended to set himself in a position of threat. He’d taken the most direct line. It was still a line had put him between her and her allies. 

But if he was to be counted as an ally in the days to come, it didn’t hurt for him to understand that it was a foolish approach with her. 

Without breaking her gaze as she reached back to draw a broken sword from a saddle bag. What had once been a long-sword with a blade a good two feet longer than suited her was now broken a hand’s span from the hilt but still wet with gore. 

She held it out to her side, raised and steady, finding her second wind in this unexpected encounter. “This has tasted my blood.” Without looking away from him, she drew something from her belt. “As has this.”

He looked down to where she held the broken arrow, point forward and deftly tucked between her knuckles. Level with his femoral artery. 

Without looking away, she went on. “If you truly believe you owe me a debt, take them and make something from them. Something I can use. That, I both want, and need.” 

He grinned ruefully and took a step back, nodding his head to acknowledge a well-played move. “You are as formidable as you are lovely. We are fortunate to have you.” 

She brought the broken blade around in a lazy arc, handle up as she set them in his hand and stepping back. “For that service, I would be grateful.” 

“And what name should I ask for you by?” He asked, a grin still playing on his lip.

She paused in the act of stepping around him, considering a moment. The exchange had given her an odd strength, setting her banner a little more firmly. Her place was not the honoured charge or the playful front. Hers was the unexpected blade. The unseen. 

“Kagemei.” The word formed almost without thought, layered in meaning. Shadow, hidden, silent. A force seen only when it seeks light. “Black Moth.” 

“Till we meet again, Black Moth.” Still holding an amused smile, he nodded and turned away. With weapons in hand and a slight spring in his step, he returned to his people.


End file.
